Tag Archives: week eight

Cycle Two, Week Eight: Sage

Soooo here we go, I know this is a bit of a cop out, but in my defense I did only write it a week ago. This is an excerpt from the collection of short stories/novel/novella maybe? I’m working on. Let me know what you think! (oh and LT, I did kind of steal the name of your other half btw :3 )

It has been calling out to us for eons, but I did not hear it on the night we checked in. The smell of the iron and the crack of the starlight across the ceiling of my room was enough to distract me from it; this curious, marvelous wasteland! I thought! Only humans would think to re create whole worlds, confine them to single rooms and plant them in the middle of the desert. And they were meant to be worlds of ours, too! It’s all a little kitsch really, but don’t get me wrong, I mean that as a compliment. The colour palate that they’ve used, in all the rooms, they’re just so deliciously vivid, most of the shades I do not recognise by name!

The Human Imagination! I’ll tell you what, you’ll never catch it apologizing for the shape and size of its desire; it’s the part of them that is the most like us, I think.

I chose my room to be this room, the Galaxy Room, because I liked the idea of living somewhere that is a little bit alien to all of us. M folk can move between the veils of all interconnected dimensions, manipulating chemistry, dissolving physics, but we are even further behind than H beans at conquering space travel. That’s what Rainbow Dash calls them, Human Beans. Clementine assigned her to the ‘Western Front’, but the Mechanical Animal machine they’ve got down there offended her so much she demanded to be removed. She’s living right next door to me now, in the Harijuku Room.

But anyway, what was I saying? Ah yes! Space Travel! Now that’s a thing I’d really like to sink my pointy pearly whites into. I want to get lost in the folds of that inky black cloak, the one you think is wrapped around the shoulders of your chosen God or Goddess. I want to bounce about from star to star, to follow the paths of the constellations! I’ve seen the maps of them, in a book I found in my night stand draw. I also found a small, oxblood leather bound tome, with the words HOLY BIBLE printed on the front in faded golden letters; I’m only two chapters into the ‘Old Testement’, and I have to say, I’m finding it a little repetitive. But the star maps! They are possibly some of the most beautiful maps I’ve ever seen! And I should know, because that’s what I used to do, back home.

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Cycle Two Week Eight: Space

Hey guys! I have chosen this weeks theme to be: Space! You can tackle this one any way you like; outerspace, space as place, as distance, as unit of measurement! Just pick an idea out of thin air and let your imagination go crazy!
You can even write about the tv show Spaced if you like! I really, really loved that show.

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Shadow

I used to know a girl called Shadow. She was a child when we first met, with eyes the colour of deep sea ice, and black hair so long it would collect fallen leaves in the autumn, and tickle the back of her ankles when she walked.  Her skin was pale, but her heart was warm, a deep well of passion that when ignited could make her appear translucent. She needed to feel the earth, with all its seeds and stones and soft leafy things, between her toes; she wanted to know it was there, to know that there were still things growing, and that there always would be.  Her favourite was the rough touch of the bark as it peeled and fell away from her climbing feet; she loved to climb trees, and she was the best at it.

In the time that I knew her Shadow took on many different forms; she could travel through time, space, dimensions, she could reincarnate into a witch, a vampire, a shape shifter. I could meet her in a marketplace a full grown woman, and come the next day I would find in her in a forest as childlike as the day we met. I would follow her through worlds, worlds we made up together, and worlds that already existed.
Her favourite place, and my favourite Shadow, was the one that lived in Middle Earth. This Shadow would climb up through the high bows of the ancient woods to watch for wizards. She could stalk stray orcs and take them out with a slingshot that she had made herself.
Shadow was smaller than most, and because she was a girl, she would have to stow away if she wanted to go on any of the really big adventures. When found, she would have to prove herself, but that was fine because even though she was young, her orphaned, urchin life had bestowed on her the ability to not take any shit for her size, her appearance or her gender.
Sometimes she would get herself into trouble, and once she was kidnapped by a great host of evil, but she was never the damsel in distress. By the time her rescuers arrived, detoured slightly from a very important quest of their own, she would have dispatched all but one of her attackers. She would, however, be grateful nonetheless. And from then on, they all came to respect and to love her, and she became the only female member of their company.
I saw all of these things happen through Shadows eyes; I would find a quiet place where I could sit on my own and indulge in her adventures. I would sit there for hours, my mind completely out of my body, and gluttonous for detail. Sometimes they made me jealous, the stories, and sad. I wanted to journey, to have adventures, to fight and love and be useful and have magic. I wanted, more than anything, for it all to be real.

Shadow was my first real best friend. I liked her better than myself, I felt like I knew every inch of her. She was the all the parts of a character I longed to possess, that I thought I could possess, if only I were a little quicker, or stronger, or lived in a parallel universe.
But as I grew older I came to accept that it was all just fantasy; she was the meat of my imagination. The development of a muscle that is now just as full, and wild and vital as my heart.

I don’t see Shadow anymore; I haven’t seen her for years. She moved like her namesake across a part of my childhood, enveloping it not in a sinister darkness, but a comforting one. I don’t think about her often, but when I do, I miss her.  And I wonder if she lives still, a reincarnated vision in another young girls head, feeding her ravenous imagination, keeping it alive until she knows how to control it. Until she knows how to put it down on paper.

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Looking Back

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by | February 18, 2013 · 1:40 am

Spheres

I seem to have become one of those people who is always looking back. I like to sift through memories as if they were a collection of things that I had had the time to card catalogue. Some of them are water stained, with most of the important details blurred into ink hieroglyphs that I can no longer read, but those colours! The colours of the memory still fill me up until I can almost taste the potency of longing; sometimes it tastes like beer and liquid honey, other times it tastes like milk and sugar. Some of them have crass words scrawled across them in black ball point pen, in a moment of quick, teenage anger. Some of them are shrouded in smoke, or blackened at the edges. Some of them never really happened at all, but I let them feel their way in around the edges of duller moments.

If it were up to me, time would not move so linear beneath my feet; I just wouldn’t allow it. It would surround me as a collection of spheres, dripping with all the richness my indulgence in nostalgia could afford, and I could move in and out of them as freely and easily as I wished.  Each one would have its own distinct colour palette and wavelength of light, and as all the components of that sliver of time begin to leap into waking life, the cerulean blue would change to dusk violet, and the violet into a soft green the colour of mermaid hair. I would be overcome by a feeling of being poured into something, a wide round space the size of a small planet, Pluto perhaps. I would be left to enjoy that feeling, the feeling of being a weightless, boneless mass, for a moment or two.
And then it would all just tumble out, from the sphere as it breaks apart above my head like split fruit, and I would let it wash over me, and I would live it again. And again. And again.

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Let’s Do the Time Warp Again!

because let’s face it, this movie is amazing

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by | February 18, 2013 · 1:02 am